


Hearthfire

by hotleafjuice



Series: Sons and Daughters of Skyrim [5]
Category: Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: Family, Friends to Lovers, Friendship, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-20
Updated: 2016-07-20
Packaged: 2018-07-25 13:05:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,101
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7533832
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hotleafjuice/pseuds/hotleafjuice
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sometimes, family is something you find without realizing that you were looking for it</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hearthfire

**Author's Note:**

> Indulging my love of domesticity.  
> Also, I need a beta if anyone is interested.

_ Home is a name, a word, it is a strong one; stronger than magician ever spoke, or spirit ever answered to, in the strongest conjuration. _

_ -Charles Dickens   _

 

4E 199

The Reach

 

Erith sat quietly on the steps in front of her house. The sun had barely started to peek over the horizon and already her mother was gone for the day. Daighre would kiss her daughter’s hair every morning on her way out the door, claiming that iron ore didn’t mine itself. Erith hated it. Her only company was Torom, the shaggy gray dog that she found huddled in the stables three years prior.

 

Erith watched as the miners started their day. She knew them all by name, but they rarely took the time to speak to her. The mine’s foreman, Skaggi, was quick to remind her that they had work to do and that she best stay out of the way.

 

With the recent Forsworn attacks, the Left Hand mine had been busier than usual. There was more demand for iron, and plenty of people to dig it up since Skaggi took on workers displaced by the fighting.

 

One of the recent additions was an Orc from Kolskeggr Mine. Gat gro-Shargakh waved to Erith as he passed, pickaxe over on broad shoulder. She jumped up, Torom immediately pressing into her side. “Good morning, Mr. gro-Shargakh.”

 

Gat looked down at the tiny Breton trotting alongside him. “Just Gat is fine, Erith. On your own again, I see.” Torom barks. “Well, not quite.”

 

Erith smoothed her hand over Torom’s head. “Hmm, just me and Torom. He’s the best dog in the Reach.” Her brows furrowed. “Do you think Skaggi will let mama come home early for my name day?”

 

Gat made a deep sound in the back of his throat. “Don’t know.” He watched Erith’s auburn hair move with the breeze coming off Karth River. “Maybe. Tell you what, I’ll remind Daighre to ask.”

 

Erith lit up with a grin that showed the small gap between her two front teeth. “Thank you!” She hugged Gat’s arm before running off with her dog on her heels.

 

***

 

Erith’s name day marked the start of summer, and she was about to vibrate out of her skin with excitement. Ten summers felt like an accomplishment. Her mama promised to take the day, and even let her have a sweet roll before bed last night. Torom was still a snoring lump of gray at the end of her bed, but Erith didn’t want to wait anymore. She went about washing up in the basin by her bed, and she chose her favorite dress--it was bright blue with small white and gold flowers.

 

Daighre was on her way out the door when Erith came skipping into view. “Mama!” A pause. “You’re wearing work clothes.” Daighre’s expression fell.

 

“I’m sorry, summer flower, but I have to go in today. Skaggi just got a big order from the Legion. All hands on deck.”

 

“But… you promised.” Erith felt the sting of tears. “You said that you didn’t have to work today.”

 

“I know, Erith.” Daighre sighed heavily. “I know, and I’m sorry.”

 

“That’s what you always say.” Erith rubbed angrily at her eyes.

 

“I’ll try to come home as quick as I can, alright.” She smoothed her daughter’s hair back from her face. Erith had her father’s hair.

 

“It’s not fair! You always leave!” Erith pulled away, tears dripping down her cheeks. “All you care about is that stupid mine!”

 

Daighre reached for Erith, but the child wasn’t interested in cold comforts. Daighre could hear the work bell, and she knew that this argument couldn’t be won just now. After taking up her pickaxe, she let the front door close gently behind her.

 

***

 

A few days passed before Daighre got the chance to see her daughter for more than a few minutes. Erith’s anger had faded but sorrow was left in its wake. Even Torom, whining and licking Erith’s hands couldn’t pull a smile out of her.

 

Sitting on the steps outside her house, Erith watched the usual parade of miners go by, and only Gat peeled away from the group to talk to her. Erith smiled, but the Orc could tell her heart wasn’t in it. “Got a present for you. It’s a little late, I know. But better late than never, eh?”

 

Erith blinked slowly. “You got me a present?”

 

“Yeah, for your name day. Three days ago, right?”

 

Gat pulled out a small leather pouch tied off with a bright red ribbon. “For you. It’s not much.” Erith took the pouch with almost reverent awe. “Figured you could go into the city and find something you like.”

 

The pouch contained ten gold coins, and Erith couldn’t believe her eyes. “This is for me?”

 

“Yeah, kid.” Gat patted her on the shoulder gently. “Markarth is going to be busy this time of year.”

 

“Thank you.” Erith tucked the coins away. “Thank you, thank you.” She hugged Gat.

 

“Eh.” He nudged her. “If you see Ghorza, she’s a friend of mine. Give her my greetings.”

 

“Ghorza?”

 

“She’s a blacksmith. Orc, like me. Ghorza gra-Bagol.”

 

“Okay,” she replied brightly.

 

***

 

Erith asked her mama about going to Markarth, but Daighre could never seem to find the time. Skaggi used up every bit of daylight, and it was all Daighre could do to fall into bed at the end of her shift.

 

On a clear, warm day, Erith decided she was tired of waiting. With Torom at her side, Erith traveled across the bridge over the Karth River and took the long, cobbled path up to Markarth.

 

The front gates were streaming with people carrying goods in and out of the city. Summer was busy season for travel in Skyrim. Erith watched as carts of food, weapons, pelts, stone, and drinks entered and immediately spread out to different parts of the city.

 

It was jarring to see so many people moving around each other at one time. Erith had to dodge and weave around merchants and guards. She had to pull Torom away from a butcher’s cart, and was nearly run over by a mule pulling large blocks of gray stone.

 

Erith hopped across the stream running through the middle of the city, almost slipping on the slick stones. She was careful going up the steep stairs to the second tier. It was a little quieter there, but in some places, it was hard to hear over the rush of water. She bought sweet, salted taffy for herself and some jerky for Torom.

 

The further Erith went up, the more narrow and treacherous the stairs became. The waterfalls roared up high, and dew collected in Erith’s hair and Torom’s fur. She flicked water at the dog, making him bark then shake. Erith laughed, trying to shield herself.

 

A patrol of guards started up the stairs, and Erith had to squeeze in next to cold, wet stone to let them pass. She wondered where they were going, and with only slight hesitation, she decided to follow.

 

***

 

The gates to Understone Keep were intricately wrought. Erith watched the guards in their silver armor draped in dark green cloth. Torom sniffed around, occasionally licking the damp cobblestone. Erith tried to call him back, but Torom was content to explore.

 

With a deep whoof, Torom darted into the dim interior of the Jarl’s palace. Erith hissed for the dog to come back. She made a frustrated noise before running after him.

 

The guards didn’t really seem to pay her much attention. It wasn’t uncommon to see citizens on the lower levels of the keep. “Torom, here boy.” Erith tried not to be too loud. She edged along the walls, wanting to stay out of the way. She let out a low whistle, but Torom was nowhere to be found. Tears started to gather at the corners of her eyes.

 

Erith sat on a chunk of rock that looked as though it had grown up out of the floor. The entire interior of Understone Keep was unpolished and rough, but still beautiful, Dwemer craftsmanship that had weathered the ages. Erith pulled her legs up to her chest, burying her head in her arms.

 

Eventually, the sound of footsteps made her look up. She followed a pair of boots up to dark, embellished robes, long fingers with rings, a pendant, then finally a pair of goldenrod eyes. Erith scrubbed at her eyes, her mouth still trembling, and her nose red.

 

“Are you lost, little one?” The High Elf’s voice was gentle, concerned.

 

“No…” Erith rubbed at her eyes again, annoyed with herself. “I lost Torom. He’s lost and probably scared.” She sniffled.

 

The Elf pulled back the hood of his robes, revealing pale gold hair parted by long, slender ears. “Who’s Torom?”

 

“My dog. I lost him. I can’t go home without him.” Erith frowned. “I won’t leave. You can’t make me.”

 

“What if I help you look for him?” He cocked his head to the side, studying the girl. “My name is Aicantar. My uncle is the Jarl’s court wizard.”

 

“I’m Erith. My mama works at Left Hand mine.”

 

“Well, I am pleased to meet you, Miss Erith. Now, let us see if we can find your wayward friend.” Aicantar took a few steps back to give Erith space. He wondered what she was doing out on her own.

 

“I’ve never met a High Elf before. What do you do if your uncle is the Jarl’s wizard? Do you know magic, too?” Erith took his hand, surprising Aicantar.

 

He stared down at his unexpected charge, unsure of what to make of her. Perhaps, it was just that things were so simple in the mind of a child. He couldn't remember ever being that innocent and trusting, but he must have at some point. His thoughts wandered to his uncle, always lost in his experiments, and his parents still on the Isles. He ushered Erith toward the main hall.

 

“I am a mage, but truly all people have some sort of affinity for magic. It lives in all of us.”

 

Erith’s eyes went wide. “I can do magic?!”

 

Aicantar smiled softly. “With the right tutor, yes. You are a Breton, the most skilled magic users of the Human races.” They started up the stairs. “And I help uncle with his experiments and research. I am also an alchemist.”

 

Erith looked up at him in wonder, her eyes blue as a cornflowers. “I want to learn…  _ everything _ ,” she whispered like a secret.

 

***

 

The second floor was much warmer and lived in. The scent of freshly baked bread wafted from nearby. There were servants running to and fro. Several important looking people passed them on the way to see the Jarl.

 

Erith tugged on Aicantar’s hand. “Look, more High Elves.” Aicantar straightened, fighting the sudden urge to turn back. A trio of Altmer approached them. One wore robes similar to Aicantar's but much more elaborate. The other two wore the gold armor of the Aldmeri Dominion.

 

Aicantar bowed his head respectfully. “Greetings, Commander Ondolemar.” Erith could feel his hand start to sweat.

 

“Aicantar, well met.” Ondolemar’s expression softened. “I would ask if you're running errands for Calcelmo, but I see you have company. Small,  _ Human _ company.” His eyebrows rose slightly.

 

Erith tugged on Aicantar's hand. “He’s helping me find my dog, Torom.” Aicantar could feel his face getting hot. “He’s very nice.”

 

He cleared his throat. “I found her by the laboratory.”

 

“There are several mongrels circling the kitchens. One of them might be, Torom, was it.” Ondolemar gestured to his guards to move on. “I will come by later to speak with Calcelmo.” After a sharp nod, he continued on.

 

Erith looked thoughtful as they made their way to the kitchens. “Was he your kissing-sweetheart?”

 

Aicantar sputtered, “My what?”

 

“Kissing-sweetheart. Your skin got all red and you gave him a nice smile.”

 

He frowned. “No. That was the military commander of the Thalmor Justiciars in Skyrim.”

 

Erith huffed. “That doesn't mean you can't kiss him. You should tell him you want to be sweethearts.”

 

Aicantar was completely at a loss for words. After one conversation, a Human child was able to zero in on feelings he’s carried for a decade.

 

“Come on, let's go find Torom.” Erith practically dragged the Elf along despite not knowing where she was going. Eventually, Aicantar snapped out of his stupor long enough to steer them in the right direction.

 

Torom was indeed by the kitchens, along with the Jarl's hounds. Aicantar watched as Erith scolded the animal, who whined and tried to lick her face. She hugged Torom tightly. “Let’s go home before mama starts looking for us.” Erith straightened, wiping her hands on her skirts. “Mr. Aicantar, this is Torom, the best dog in the whole wide world.”

 

“Pleased to meet you, Torom,” he replied with utter seriousness. “I’ll walk you back to the gates.” Aicantar watched Erith pet her dog, her best friend.

 

It was odd to feel envious of a child and an animal. It was so easy to become isolated in Skyrim. Few wanted anything to do with Elves, especially Altmer. Aicantar had no close friends, and his uncle only had time for his work. Surely, this isn’t what his parents had in mind.

 

He hid a smile when Erith took his hand again. It was pleasant to listen to her recount her adventures with her furry companion. He wasn't sure when he last had such lighthearted company.

 

***

 

Erith was dismayed to find that the sun had set. “Mama’s going to be mad.” She didn't want to admit that making the trip in the dark scared her. She bit her lip, wondering if could even find her way back.

 

Aicantar squeezed her hand. “Where do you live?”

 

“Outside the city, by the mines.”

 

“That is a long walk. I could go with you.”

 

Erith looked up, conflicted. She didn't want to go alone, and her mama was going to be  upset to see her bothering someone else; Aicantar looked important. “I don't know.” She twisted her hands in the folds of her dress. A sharp wind blew off the water, making her shiver. Torom pranced around restlessly. “You sure it's okay?”

 

“It is no problem, Erith. The streets aren't safe at night. I’d rather see you home myself.” Aicantar cast an orb of soft blue-white light.

 

“Oh, wow. I wanna learn to do that.” The magelight made her eyes shine silver. Aicantar smiled.

 

“One of the simplest spells. When I was a child, I used the light to read when I should have been sleeping.”

 

“Can you teach me? Please.” Erith gave him her most pitiful expression.

 

“I’ve never had a student before.” Aicantar took hold of her arm as they descended the cramped, narrow stairs. The magelight hovered above them, flickering in the wind. “My uncle said I made a poor student, myself. Always in a rush.”

 

“I want to learn,” she whispered.

 

***

 

Aicantar and Erith were just crossing the Karth when Daighre spotted them. She held a torch, which sputtered and died as she ran across the bridge. Torom barked happily, turning circles. Erith partially hid behind Aicantar at her mother's worn expression.

 

“Erith! Thank the Gods.” Daighre reached for her daughter. Erith shrunk back. Aicantar politely stepped aside. “Where have you been? I was worried sick. Everyone has been looking for you.” She sighed then pulled Erith into a hug.

 

Daighre’s attention turned to the Elf. “And who are you?” Her voice rose angrily. “Why do you have my daughter?”

 

“Mama, I’m sorry. Don’t be mad at Mr. Aicantar. He’s been helping me.”

 

Aicantar brightened the magelight so Daighre could get a better look at the man accompanying her child. “I apologize, mistress. My name is Aicantar. I am the court wizard’s assistant.”

 

Daighre looked down at Erith, her fingers digging into her daughter's shoulders. “You went to Markarth alone? What were you thinking?!” She looked between Erith and Aicantar. “You went to the Jarl's palace? Erith…”

 

Aicantar cleared his throat. “Mistress, Erith has been a fine companion. I am sorry that you had to worry.”

 

Daighre frowned deeply, creating lines of grief and hard work across her face. “I want to hear exactly what happened.” She pointed. “You. You’re coming with me so you can explain to me why my daughter is in the company of some High Elf from the Keep.” Daighre held Erith’s arm in a bruising grip.

 

On the way home, Daighre called off the search. Skaggi appeared particularly unhappy about the fuss. Gat visibly sagged with relief. Aicantar pulled his hood down further.

 

***

 

Daighre wasn't ashamed of her humble house with its old, well loved furnishings, but she had to admit that compared to Aicantar everything looked overly shabby. Daighre sent Erith to bed, saving their conversation for tomorrow. She kissed Erith’s hair, and watched Torom curl up at her feet to sleep.

 

Daighre offered Aicantar something to drink just to be polite. He declined but took a seat at the table. “Mistress--”

 

“My name is Daighre. That’ll do.” She looked down at the Elf, her arms crossed, and her mouth set in a grim line. “What happened?”

 

Aicantar began his story, speaking softly and with expressive hands. The rhythm of his voice was calming, but Daighre held onto her anger with hooks. Aicantar did not mind that she remained standing. He understood that the height of his people made other races uncomfortable, and Daighre was short, even for a Breton.

 

“I don’t understand why you would even take the time to help a kid you don’t know.” Her eyes narrowed on him. “What do you want, Elf?” Her muscles tightened. “If I find out that you touched her---”

 

“ **No!** ” Aicantar blanched, his gold skin turning sallow. “No, no, she was weeping, and anyone without a heart of stone would have stopped to assist her.” He fought the urge to fidget. “Despite what the guards may say, Markarth is a dangerous city at night. Sending Erith alone was not an option.”

 

Daighre felt some of the fight drain out of her. The stress of the day wore her down, and there was no relief in sight. The mine was her life now, and Erith would continue spend her days alone. She ran a hand through her dark blonde hair.

 

“Does Erith know how to read and write?”

 

“What?” Confusion twisted her brows. “Um, she knows her letters well enough. Can’t write much aside from her name. Why?”

 

“She expressed an interest in learning magic. It would be a fine chance to give her a comprehensive education.” Aicantar ducked his head to catch Daighre’s gaze. “Erith spoke of you a little during our walk. She said you work harder than anyone, but had no time for anything else.”

 

“Why would you care?”

 

“Erith is bright and curious. With a proper education, she would never have to set foot in a mine.”

 

Daighre sighed heavily. “Her father didn’t want this for her. For us.” She dropped onto a chair, the wood groaning. “What would this cost? Who would teach her?”

 

“I would take on the majority of her schooling. Besides assisting my uncle, I have no significant commitments. I ask for no coin. When she is old enough, I can even write her a recommendation to the College of Winterhold or find her a place in one of the courts.”

 

Daighre stared at the Elf sitting across from her. She wished that she could read his thoughts, feel his intentions. She hated this doubt. This was a chance for her daughter to have a good life. “When would she start?”

 

“You may send her to the Keep on next Morndas. I should have everything ready by then.” Aicantar gave her a reassuring smile. “I know this is a lot, Daighre. I understand if you want to take some time to think it over. Perhaps, come up to the Keep and look around.”

 

“I… will think about it. And I never thanked you for bringing her back to me.”

 

He stood, and Daighre admired the fluid motion. “I will take my leave for now. Send a message when you decide.” He bowed his head slightly. “Good night.”

 

Daighre closed the door behind Aicantar and fought the urge to cry.

 

***

 

Erith bounced on her toes as she and Torom waited for Aicantar to appear. He said to wait just inside the main gates. She busied herself with watching people go about their business. She made up funny stories about some of them, telling Torom that one man was a thief that stolen pearls from a family of mudcrabs, and that a lady fought trolls with calipers.

 

She was in the middle of a story about talking plants and evil fish-men when Aicantar came down the path that wound around the tavern.

 

“Erith,” he gestured her forward, “good morning. Come, we will have breakfast then start your lessons.”

 

***

 

It took nearly a month for Erith to be able to cast her first spell. At first, Aicantar focused on letters and numbers. He said that a good mage was always highly educated and dedicated to the pursuit of knowledge.

 

“Now, focus. Visualize the spell, and then let your magicka flow.”

 

Erith held her hand out in front of her, her fingers curled together tightly. She imagined stars as she slowly unfurled her fingers. A small ball of light appeared from her palm. She grinned. “Look, I did it.” The light flickered, but she held onto the spell.

 

“Well done.”

 

***

 

Erith looked up at approaching footsteps, finding a High Elf but not the one she was waiting for. “Are you looking for Aicantar? He’s late.” She frowned thoughtfully. “You're the commander of the Elves.”

 

Ondolemar crossed his arms, his left eyebrow cocked. “I am Ondolemar. I command the Justiciars in Skyrim. And you are Aicantar’s pupil. He speaks highly of you.”

 

Erith beamed. “He says I'm real good at alteration spells. What kind of spells are you good at?”

 

Ondolemar didn't know what to make of this child. He wasn't particularly interested in entertaining her, but she just continued to look up at him with those bright blue eyes. “I excel at many types of magic, but destruction spells are my speciality, and I am a highly skilled enchanter.”

 

“So you just set things on fire and play with magic rocks?” Behind Ondolemar, one of his guards coughed to cover a laugh. “Aicantar is good at conjuration. He showed me how to make lights. Everyone says Mr. Calcelmo is a better mage, but I like Aicantar the best.”

 

“Calcelmo is indeed a talented mage and scholar of great renown, but yes, Aicantar is the more… amiable.”

 

“Does that mean that he’s your favorite?”

 

Before Ondolemar could even begin to answer that question, Aicantar appeared, arms overflowing with countless books and scrolls. “Erith, I apologize for my tardiness. I… oh, commander, good afternoon. Uncle is in the museum. Cataloging, I believe.”

 

Erith looked between the two Elves, Aicantar flustered and Ondolemar, coolly indifferent. Erith reached up and took a few books that were seconds from ending up on the floor. “You should come with us, Mr. Ondolemar. Aicantar is a good teacher.” The commander’s expression settled into amusement.

 

“Your student speaks well of you, Aicantar. What is the lesson for today?”

 

He couldn't tell if his fellow Mer was teasing him. “Utility spells.” Aicantar looked down at Erith, but her attention was now on Torom. “Was there something I could assist you with, commander?”

 

“Elenwen is having another one of those bloody parties. That said, I must attend. She wants your uncle there, but he refuses to leave his work. I extend the invitation to you instead.” Ondolemar crossed his arms behind his back, affecting an air of nonchalance.

 

“Oh, of course. I will need to create lesson plans for Erith and leave notes for uncle…”

 

“It’s not for several weeks. Make your arrangements.” Ondolemar nodded then turned sharply on his heel.

 

“You don't want to stay?” Erith asked with only the barest hint of a whine.

 

It was the unamused Thalmor guard that replied, “Mind your tongue, Breton. You address a member of the Thalmor. The commander has no time for childish nonsense.”

 

Aicantar took a step forward, partially hiding Erith from view. Ondolemar waved his guards away. “You two may return to your patrol.” The guard’s expression hardened. “Go, I will return before the evening meal.” They had no choice but to follow orders.

 

“I… well, let us get started.” Aicantar told himself that he wasn't going to panic. Erith looked far too pleased with herself.

 

The walk to their makeshift classroom room was made all the longer by the silence.

 

***

 

Ondolemar was impressed with what Aicantar was able to accomplish with such limited space. The room was round but sectioned off with slabs of stone. There was a large desk with two chairs, an area to practice spells, a table for alchemy, and an arcane enchanter. Ingredients, reagents, crystals, large tomes, and scrolls lined shelves set against the wall. Erith and Aicantar went about unloading their burdens on the desk.

 

Ondolemar stood a few feet from the desk, watching the pair. Erith was speaking softly to Torom, telling him to be a good boy. Aicantar shoved some of the books haphazardly on the shelves; he would sort them later. “We will work on the spell Detect Life. It is a relatively simple spell. The more skilled you become, the further the range of effect. It is extremely useful to non-combative mages, mages low on magicka, or as a way to get an idea of enemy numbers.” Aicantar glanced at Ondolemar out of the corner of his eye. “With your skill level, you should be able to see the commander and myself.”

 

Aicantar walked Erith through the motions of the spell, reminding her to focus outward. He was a very patient teacher, gently correcting Erith's form and answering her numerous questions.

 

Ondolemar found the process intriguing. It’s been many decades since his own schooling, but he couldn't remember any of his tutors being this considerate.

 

“You will indulge us, commander?”

 

“Ondolemar is acceptable in private conversation. And I will assist.” The two Elves stood behind one of the stone slabs on the other side of the room.

 

“Whenever you are ready, Erith.” She breathed in deeply, closing her eyes. The pull of magicka inside her was becoming as familiar to her as her own heartbeat. Slowly, she opened her eyes, the world disorientedly unfocused. She pushed her magic outward, and slowly two blue forms flickered in her field of vision.

 

“I see you.” The view became a little less dizzying. “One of you is walking in circles.”

 

“Very good,” Aicantar called out. The spell faded, and Erith had to blink several times for the world to come back into focus.

 

The rest of the afternoon was spent on perfecting Erith’s technique, and Aicantar decided she was ready to learn a little about magic-armor spells. He was able to get Ondolemar to help with several demonstrations.

 

Aicantar gave Erith a couple of children’s books to help her along with her reading. She was a quick study, and he had no doubts that she would be back with them tomorrow. Once the sixteenth bell chimed, Erith was released for the day.

 

Ondolemar ran a finger along the edge of the enchanter’s table. “This is very well crafted.”

 

Aicantar looked up then away, busying his hands with sorting scrolls. “Thank you. It was a gift from the Master Wizard Mirabelle Ervine. Over the years, I translated several books for the college and sent along a few interesting texts.”

 

“You have hopes for  _ your _ Breton to be as… influential as Ervine?”

 

“Erith is not one to underestimate,” he replied with a soft laugh. “Also, I appreciate your assistance this afternoon. It is good to have another practiced mage for demonstrations.” Aicantar smoothed his hands over a well-worn piece of parchment. “You are welcome to use the enchanter’s table. I am afraid I can only teach the basics, anyway.”

 

“I may take you up on that offer.” Ondolemar tapped his fingers on the table. “Thank you, Aicantar.”

 

Once the commander was gone, Aicantar sank down heavily in one of the chairs. “I don’t know what to do,” he murmured.

 

***

 

Gat gro-Shargakh watched as Skaggi and Daighre argued over next week’s shipment. Daighre’s temper had shortened considerably since Erith’s solo misadventure to Markarth three months ago. Gat didn’t think that she would ever forgive Skaggi for making her break her promise to Erith. He took a moment to admire Daighre’s fierce, unyielding stance, and he wondered if  this fight would end up with her breaking Skaggi’s nose.

 

Daighre looked ready to murder the stubborn Nord in front of her. Gat decided it was time to intervene.

 

“It’s damn unreasonable! No one could fill an order that large!” Daighre drew in a deep, steadying breath. “We work sun up to sun down as it is, Skaggi. I haven’t seen my daughter in three days. If you don’t fix this, you’ll have mutiny.”

 

Skaggi pulled at his thinning hair, his face blotchy and twisted with anger. “You see here, lass! I run this mine---”

 

“Skaggi, that’s enough.” Gat clapped the man on the shoulder. “Fighting won’t get us anywhere. Come back to it in the morning with cooler heads.” Skaggi never thought he would see the day an Orc advocated for peace.

 

The Nord looked like he wanted to argue for the sake of it, but Daighre stormed off before the fight could begin anew. Gat sighed, scratching at the beginnings of a beard. “Might want to think real hard on her demands, old man. Daighre commands a lot of respect around here.”

 

***

 

Gat found Daighre sitting on an overturned barrel by the stables. Her hands were twisted up in her hair, pulling. “Dai?”

 

She looked up at him, trying to smooth her face into something more pleasant. “Thanks, Gat. Saved me taking a swing at him.”

 

His deep laugh made her smile. “My coin’s on you if you do.” Gat gently nudged her shoulder. He had great affection for this woman. Daighre had come to him first when Erith had gone missing after her name day. He felt guilty that he had given Erith that money. He saw a lot more of Daighre after that, seen her laugh, cry, happy, and furious.

 

Gat wanted to court Daighre, but he didn’t know if he could ever replace the dead man in her heart. The Orc had seen her bittersweet smiles as she watched her daughter play with Torom or help feed the horses. She still wore her plain gold wedding ring despite her husband being eight years dead.

 

“Got a good price on meat from Hogni at the market. Dinner’s yours if you want it.” Daighre wiped her hands on her pants before hopping to her feet. “Erith won’t be home for a couple more hours.”

 

“Sounds good. Pavo can eat his own cooking tonight.” Daighre laughed, and Gat thought,  _ yes, this is enough _ .

 

***

 

Ondolemar watched Aicantar fill in as the Jarl's court wizard; Calcelmo claimed he had several experiments at a delicate stage. Ondolemar knew that the old wizard would do anything to keep from being disturbed. He felt a stab of sympathy. Aicantar worked tirelessly, and he admired his passion and sense of duty.

 

It was oddly refreshing to have someone of equal intelligence and sufficient skill to converse with. Most of his time was eaten up by the petty problems of those unwashed, heathen Nords, and enough paperwork to drown himself in. He wondered if Elenwen was trying to kill him slowly.

 

Ondolemar wasn't always certain what to make of Erith. He saw the girl a few times a week since he gladly took Aicantar’s offer to use the enchanter’s table. She was intelligent for a Human and unfailingly kind and brash in the way that only children could be.

 

And Ondolemar wasn't completely immune to Aicantar’s looks. The mage was an excellent example of high Altmeri breeding, but beyond that was a gentle heart not often found in their brethren. Perhaps, that was why sent him away from the brutal politics of the Isles.

 

Aicantar bowed politely once the Jarl dismissed his court, and he did everything but run to be the first person out of the chamber.

 

Ondolemar caught him at the threshold. “Aicantar, spare me a moment of your time?”

 

All Aicantar could do was nod. The two Altmer walked the winding halls of the palace. Ondolemar wished to discuss the final details for their trip to the embassy. They would only be gone a week, but Aicantar missed his books and potions already.

 

“I have some last minute instructions for uncle and assignments for Erith.” Aicantar was so caught up in his thoughts, that Ondolemar’s hand at his elbow was the only thing that stopped him from walking into a pillar. Aicantar’s blush was a bright shade of copper.

 

Ondolemar shook his head in amusement. “Do not let me keep you, then.” A pause. “But do be sure to watch for stairs.”

 

Upon pain of death, Aicantar would never call his exit anything other than a tactical retreat.

 

***

 

Erith had forgotten how boring and drawn out the days were without going to Markarth. She resumed her former post at the foot of the stairs in front of her house. Her mama had already left, and Torom dozed lazily at her feet.

 

Gat waved to her as usual, and she grinned as she waved back. Gat had been around more the past few months. Erith liked the Orc. He was kind, and he had a special smile just for her mama. And Daighre smiled more when Gat was there.

 

Erith was surprised when Daighre got home before the sun went down. Gat came in behind her carrying a side of venison. The Orc immediately went to the cooking pit while Daighre wrapped her daughter in a crushing hug.

 

Daighre braided Erith's hair back from her face. “ What did you learn about today, summer flower?”

 

Erith folded her legs in front of her, leaving room for Torom in her lap. “I learned about the different types of magic shields. I can't wait to show Aicantar.”

 

Daighre kissed the back of Erith's head. “You’re so smart. You’ll be a great mage one day.”

 

“I hope so. Aicantar let me see his uncle’s museum. It's really nice. Even though it's been thousands of years, some of the machines still work. I miss him.” Erith tilted her head back to look at Daighre. “The leader Elf sometimes helps with showing me magic stuff.”

 

“Leader Elf?”

 

“Mr. Ondolemar. He’s the commander of the justices.”

 

Daighre frowned. “Justices?” There was a thoughtful pause. “You mean the Justiciars?”

 

“Yes! Aicantar  _ fancies _ him.” Erith grinned. “He won’t tell him though. Aicantar said Mr. Ondolemar is more important than him so it would be in-a-ppropri-ate.” She scowled. “Aicantar is important too, but he doesn't think so.”

 

Daighre took a few moments to digest Erith's words.

 

“Aicantar is special, but his uncle ignores him, and the Nords are mean to him. They don’t know him, mama. It’s not fair.”

 

“Life… often isn’t fair, my flower, but you know the truth. That's what is most important.” Daighre fiddled with the end of Erith's braid. “A lot of the time… we don't see in ourselves what other people see in us.”

 

Erith looked uncharacteristically deep in thought. Daighre looked over at Gat, smiling as he cooked their dinner.

 

***

 

Daighre and Gat stayed up late drinking wine warmed over the coals. Erith had been sent to bed hours ago. Torom was sleeping by the fire.

 

“Erith is a good kid.” Gat refilled Daighre’s cup. “Strong spirit, warrior’s heart.”

 

Daighre laughed softly. “Gods, don’t I know it. Just like her father.” Her smile was sad. “She looks more and more like him everyday.” She looked at Gat, her expression becoming gentle. “You.” She swallowed hard. “You have helped me. Been kind to me and Erith.”

 

Gat shrugged quick enough to brush off her words. “It’s nothing, but I should go.” They both stood at the same time, and Gat towered over Daighre. Were her eyes always such a dark shade of blue.

 

Daighre took his hand before he could turn away. “Gat…” His skin was the color of springtime moss, and she could not help but admire it.

 

He reached out, gently placing his hand against Daighre’s cheek. His free hand brushed rich blonde hair back from her face, and he was always mindful of his sharp nails. Daighre leaned into the touch, her hand resting on top of his. “You could stay,” she whispered.

 

“I can’t,” he replied just as softly, “but I want to.” He leaned down and kissed her forehead. “Good night, Daighre.”

 

***

 

Aicantar met Erith at the city’s gates. Occasionally, they liked to walk the markets or sit and listen to the water. Aicantar even bought her some taffy once.

 

The hug was unexpected. He had only been gone a week, but Erith clung to him as though she would never see him again. Aicantar didn’t know what to do with his hands, so he rested them carefully on her shoulders. Sometimes, he forgot that Humans were not so reserved as his people.

 

“Welcome back.”

 

No one had ever said that to him before.

 

“Thank you, Erith. Come, we have much to discuss.” He took the books she was carrying, easily folding them under his arm. “I want to hear about what you and Torom did while I was away.”

 

Aicantar felt a deep calm settle over him as Erith launched into her tale, which was accompanied with sweeping gestures and different voices for each person. Torom trotted beside him, and every once in awhile nudged his hand for attention.

 

They had just passed through the entrance to the Keep when Erith started to ask him countless questions about his trip. Aicantar tried his best to keep up but got lost somewhere in her enthusiasm.  It wasn’t until they were approached by Ondolemar's patrolling guards that there was a significant pause in conversation.

 

Aicantar didn’t even learn their names until their trip to the Thalmor Embassy. Cirandur was the more serious of the two, and Aicantar wasn’t sure that he had ever seen the man smile. He still burned with how rudely Cirandur had treated Erith in the past. Tyermaillin was much younger than his partner and strangely personable for an Altmer. Aicantar would later learn that Tyermaillin had been born and raised outside of the Dominion.

 

Cirandur eyed Erith then Aicantar, but it was Tyermaillin that spoke, “Aicantar, good morning. The commander is meeting with the Jarl, but he wishes to see you at your convenience.”

 

“Of course. Thank you.” He gently ushered Erith along but not before she could stick out her tongue at Cirandur.

 

***

 

Catching up on Erith’s studies took far longer than Aicantar anticipated. Ondolemar appeared just before the eighteenth bell, and Aicantar was still walking Erith through casting a proper ward.

 

Erith hands shook, but she was determined to cast a ward and maintain it. Aicantar warned her that wards took a lot of practice and burned through magicka rapidly, but that made her all the more stubborn. Aicantar called an end to the lesson after a weak lightning spell shattered Erith’s ward. She was breathing heavily and sweat dampened her hairline.

 

“Erith, enough,” Aicantar was tender with his words, “You did very well. It is late, and your mother will be looking for you.”

 

Ondolemar cleared his throat, making his fellow Altmer whirl around in a rustle of dark robes. “Commander?” His expression tightened. “I forgot our meeting. I deeply apologize, commander… Ondolemar.” He bowed slightly at the waist.

 

“You are not the forgetful type, but I did not expect to see you still engaged.”

 

Surreptitiously, Aicantar wiped his palms on the back of his robes. Erith tugged on his sleeve. “M’tired now and I want to go home.”

 

Aicantar dropped his gaze. “Of course.” He unconsciously brushed her hair back from her face. Ondolemar followed the movement, struck by the simple affection of it.

 

Ondolemar decided to head off Aicantar’s apologies. “Would it be permissible for me to accompany you?”

 

Erith cut Aicantar off with, “Yes.”

 

***

 

Erith could hardly keep her eyes open as they left Understone Keep. She swayed into Aicantar’s side, and Torom whined while nosing her hand.

 

“Come on, Erith,” Aicantar murmured as he kneeled. She climbed onto his back, locking her arms around his neck. She buried her face against his shoulder. They were an odd pair, and Ondolemar was given another small glimpse into a life far different than his own. He wanted that.

 

Ondolemar fell into step with Aicantar.

 

“I apologize again for not meeting you.” There was a long pause, and Aicantar was afraid that he actually angered the commander.

 

“No, I assure you that it is fine.” Ondolemar tilted his head to better see Aicantar under the light of the waxing moons. “You had… important matters to attend. And mine was a trivial matter to begin with.”

 

“I have the time now if you still wish to speak.” He adjusted Erith, and she made a grumpy noise in her sleep.

 

“I find myself in a strange position.” There uncharacteristic hesitation in his voice. “I wanted to… speak with you while I still had the…” He cleared his throat. “While I still had the courage.”

 

Aicantar looked at him with wide eyes then quickly dropped his gaze. “I do not think that anyone could accuse of that.”

 

The city’s gates loomed ahead.

 

“In this matter, perhaps.” Ondolemar watched how the light from the torches lining the buildings made Aicantar glow ethereal and untouchably beautiful.

 

A not uncomfortable silence fell between them.

 

***

 

Daighre looked both relieved and exasperated by their late arrival. Aicantar made his apologies, but she waved them off. She spared a curious glance at Ondolemar but made no comment. She collected her child, straining a little under the weight.

 

“I think she should have a couple of rest days. She pushed herself far too hard.”

 

Daighre agreed,  working on adjusting Erith's weight. Aicantar wished her a good night, and Ondolemar just gave her a curt nod.

 

***

 

Aicantar was not sure if he should bring up their earlier conversation, and curiosity warred with trepidation.

 

“I do not know how to ask for what you have.” Ondolemar wanted to stuff those words back in his mouth.

 

“I do not understand.”

 

“Your ease in your affections, which you give so freely without expectation.”

 

Aicantar wondered if it was dark enough to hide his reddening face. “You have it already.” He breathed deep. “My affections.”

 

Ondolemar stopped him with a hand on his arm. They stood at the base of narrow stairs. “What if I am unsure in how to return such gentle feelings?”

 

Aicantar took his hand. “I do not think anyone knows the definitive answer to that.” He ran his thumb along the inside of Ondolemar’s wrist. “I think all that can be done is to return it earnestly.”

 

“Thank you, Aicantar.” He smiled. “I swear that I will work to prove worthy of such regard.” Ondolemar kissed his hand before letting it go.

 

***

 

“You’re smiling.” Erith leaned back in her chair.

 

Aicantar looked up from an alchemy book that arrived from the Summerset Isles the previous day. “Hmm?”

 

Erith grinned. “You’re happier. You like alchemy, but it doesn't make you smile.”

 

Aicantar tried to smooth his expression into something more benign. The urge to deflect was automatic, but he remembered that Erith wasn't someone he needed to fake polite indifference. “I am quite content. Ondolemar expressed romantic interest in me.” He couldn't smother a grin.

 

Erith’s answering smile lit up the room. “Yay! Now you're kissing-sweethearts.” Feeding off his mistress’ excitement, Torom barked and ran around the table.

 

Aicantar buried his face in his hands. “Thank you, Erith. Now, tell me about dispelling techniques.”

 

***

 

Erith frowned deeply up at Cirandur. “May I speak with Mr. Ondolemar?” She even bowed her head.

 

“The commander has no time to entertain children. Begone.” Cirandur’s scowl was impressive, but Erith wasn't easily dissuaded.

 

She tried on her sweetest smile. “Please. It’s important.”

 

“I said be gone, Breton trash.” His hand moved to the hilt of his sword.

 

“Do you truly intend to draw your weapon on a child?” Ondolemar stood directly behind Cirandur, arms crossed.

 

The guard turned toward his superior. “Commander, this girl has no business here. You wished to not be disturbed from your duties.”

 

Ondolemar’s expression was calm enough to be cold. “Yet here I stand, disturbed from those very duties you mentioned.”

 

Erith looked between the two and suddenly wished she knew the spell for invisibility. Maybe Aicantar would teach it to her soon.

 

“Cirandur, you are dismissed. Send Tyermaillin after you are packed.”

 

“Sir?”

 

“I meant dismissed permanently. You will report to the Thalmor Embassy for reassignment.”

 

Cirandur suddenly looked pale. “Sir?” he asked again, taken aback. The look on Ondolemar’s face made it clear the conversation was over. Cirandur retreated.

 

Erith didn't want to look up at the commander. Her fingers were nervously twisted up in her skirts. Torom stood in front of her.

 

“Miss Erith, how may I assist you?” His tone was unexpectedly kind.

 

“I wasn't trying to get him in trouble.” Her voice warbled as though she were about to cry. “I just wanted to talk to you about Aicantar’s name day.”

 

“Cirandur was in trouble long before today.” Ondolemar stepped back to allow Erith into his office. “Come, we will speak.”

 

Erith had never seen the inside of Ondolemar’s office, and it was possible that he had more books than Aicantar. There were bright crystals growing in clusters along the ceiling. Everything else was awash in candlelight. The desk was the largest thing in the room, carved from wood so dark it looked black. She tried to take in everything at once.

 

Ondolemar pulled out a seat for her, and she was amused that her feet couldn't touch the floor. She swung her legs freely. Torom curled up under her chair. Ondolemar sat across from her, and Erith could imagine him holding court behind that grand desk.

 

“Aicantar’s name day,” he prodded.

 

Erith tore her attention away from an ornate bottle sitting on the corner of his desk. “Yes, it’s in three days. I haven't gotten his present yet. You should get him one too, since you’re sweethearts now.”

 

Ondolemar’s eyes crinkled in amusement. “We tend not to celebrate every name day. We live too long.”

 

“Well, this one's special. Aicantar has me and you now.” Erith crossed her arms. “So, we should have a party.”

 

“And what did you have in mind, Miss Erith?” He bit the inside of his mouth to keep from smiling.

 

“A surprise. I tried to talk to Mr. Calcelmo, but he was too busy. He forgot about Aicantar when I asked.” Erith picked at the hem of her dress. “I think Aicantar sometimes gets sad about his uncle. He said his parents still live on the summer islands.”

 

“Summerset Isles,” Ondolemar absently corrected. “And you are correct. Aicantar has a… kind heart, and Markarth has been… lonely.” He drummed his fingers on the arm of his chair. “You and I will make it memorable.”

 

***

 

Aicantar didn't know what to expect when Erith took him by the hand and started to drag him toward their classroom.

 

Erith grinned up at him before pushing open the door. The room was lit with suspended crystals. One of the tables was pushed to the center of the room; it was covered with a bright red cloth.

 

“What is this?” Aicantar looked bewildered.

 

“It’s for you. For your name day.” She gently pushed him forward. On the table were two wrapped gifts and a large sweet cream cake decorated with gold flowers.

 

“You remembered that?” Aicantar was pleasantly dazed.

 

“Of course,” Ondolemar appeared from behind one of the tall stone slabs, “it is an important day.” He held a carved box, which he set down next to the gifts.

 

“Yes!” Erith hugged Aicantar tightly. “You're important to us.”

 

At a loss for words, all Aicantar could do was stare down at the table. He couldn't remember the last time he celebrated a name day. “This is… thank you, both.” He smiled.

 

Erith insisted on presents first. The two wrapped ones were from her-- a fine glass dagger and a worn leather book. Aicantar turned the book over, running his fingers along the engraving. “Where did you find this, Erith. This is… too much.” The  _ Song of the Alchemist _ was a rare book, part of an incomplete series about the Dwemer.

 

She grinned up at him, her eyes somehow bluer than usual. “I asked all the merchants about it when you first told me about your name day.” That was months ago. “Ms. Bothela was able to find a copy for me.”

 

“But how were you able to buy this… Erith, this book is quite rare. The only copy I have seen was in the library at the College of Winterhold.” Aicantar wanted so much to keep the book, but he couldn’t if it was ill-gotten or caused hardship for Erith and her mother.

 

“I did a bunch of favors for Ms. Bothela, Ms. Lisbet, Ms. Kerah, and Mr. Raerek. I made them promise not to tell you. I wanted you to be surprised.” She looked very pleased with herself.

 

“Thank you, Erith.” He hugged the book to his chest. “This is a wonderful gift.” No one had ever gone so far out of their way to give him something, especially something that came with no strings attached.

 

“Well, that will be a tough act to follow.” Ondolemar stepped forward and slid the box toward Aicantar.

With a shy smile, Aicantar lifted the lid to reveal two stones, one impossibly white and the other almost the same shade of bright blue as Erith’s eyes. “Are these…” He lifted the white stone, marveling at the multifaceted cut, which threw light around him. “This is a varla stone.” He looked at Erith. “They can be used to enchant anything, but only once.”

 

He laid the varla stone inside and picked up the other, immediately feeling the warmth of its light. “Welkynd stones recharge a person’s magicka.” He ran his thumb over the worn grooves in the stone. “Thank you, Ondolemar.” He carefully returned the stones to the box, closing the lid gently.

 

Ondolemar smiled, which created deep lines around his mouth; it was Aicantar’s favorite smile. “You are most welcome.” Ondolemar touched Aicantar’s hand, fingers rubbing over the inside of his wrist.

 

The trio ate cake, and Erith insisted on singing a song for Aicantar’s name day. There was laughter, and joy, and Aicantar felt incredibly loved.

 

***

 

“Dai?” Gat poked his head into the house.

 

“Here!” She called from the back of the house, her voice echoing. The Orc decided to come in and make himself comfortable by the fire. Daighre appeared a few minutes later. “I wasn’t expecting you just yet. Dinner’s still cooking.” Gat loved her venison stew.

 

“Finished up a little early. Skaggi’s cutting a little slack on the orders.” Gat spied a platter of boiled creme treats. “If those are still there, Erith’s clearly not here.”

 

Daighre laughed. “I know. The quiet is odd.” She turned her attention to the pot hanging over the fire. “They won’t be back for another two weeks.”

 

Gat nodded, wiping his dirty hands on his pants. “Never thought I’d see the day Erith would leave the Reach.”

 

“She was so excited. I almost feel bad for Aicantar, but he insisted on taking her and Torom.” Daighre flashed a smile over her shoulder. “He swore that she would love the college. I hope so. She’ll probably go there one day to study.” Daighre fished out a couple of bowls and cups. “Hard to believe it’s been a year since Aicantar first showed up with Erith in tow.”

 

Gat chuckled. “Yeah, and you ready to take a swing at him with your pickaxe.” Daighre flashed a smile.

 

She and Gat ate sitting side-by-side, enjoying the warmth of the fire and each other. They talked about nothing of note as they drank wine. Eventually, her hand found his, both their fingers calloused and scarred.

 

With his free hand, Gat reached out and turned her face toward him. He studied her, but he was already familiar with how her hair gleamed like spun gold in the firelight. He knew the color of her eyes were the same as deep, still water. Her skin was fair and ruddy and dotted with freckles.

 

“Will you stay?” she asked.

 

“Would you have me here?” He rested his forehead against hers. “Not just physically.” He touched her breast. “But here too?”

 

“You’ve been there for a long time now, longer than I realized.” Daighre closed her eyes. “I love you. You have to know that.”

 

Gat nuzzled his nose against her temple, his hands idly playing with her fingers. He noted the lack of the plain gold ring on her left hand. He slowly wrapped her up in his arms. “I love you, too. Have for a long while.” She tilted her face up toward him, and he kissed her.

 

***

 

Aicantar looked at down Ondolemar spread out on the bed under him. His hands followed the curve of his thighs and rested on the crest of his hips. Aicantar left kisses along his lover’s collarbone and up to the sharp cut of his jaw.

 

Ondolemar tangled one hand in Aicantar’s pale gold hair, the other touched his face so gently. “I belong to you now, and I have decided that I like it very much. So, you must keep me. I demand it.”

 

Aicantar laughed against the hollow of his throat. “Of course.”

 

***

 

Daighre watched Aicantar from across the table. He was showing Erith how to transmute iron ore into silver. The Elf didn’t look as out of place as he did when he first stood in her home. Ondolemar watched his lover as well, having gone from stone silent and cold, to something that was almost friendly. Gat was busy cleaning fish to grill.

 

Theirs was an odd family that could have easily never existed, but they found each all the same. Daighre looked down at the shiny gold ring on her left hand and smiled.


End file.
